Just A Danedelion
by Me
Summary: Hamlet gets back early, and runs off w/Ophelia to Africa, where some animals help him get courage. Crossover w/The Lion King, and quite silly.


JUST A DANE-DE-LION  
  
The love starved lover stared into the water, gazing at the beautiful flower petals. She blinked  
back a tear, knowing that she could never get herself to a nunnery. She didn't want anything, but  
to see her darling Hamlet again. And if he wasn't there, she didn't know what to do.  
  
Hamlet, the prince, meanwhile, had stealthily moved through the woods. Ignoring the crop of  
skulls, and the wild, crashing armies of Fortinbras which had been marching from Sweden, he had  
dashed over to the spot where his dear Ophelia often came to meditate. "Ophelia," he  
proclaimed.  
  
"Oh, my Hamlet," Ophelia cried, running into his arms. "I feared those men whom the king  
had sent you with would do away with you quickly."  
  
"Nay, my love, but they were mere ensigns of misfortune, my darling O," he said, using his pet  
name for her. "They could not triumph over me," he proclaimed.  
  
"The scoundrel," she declared, thinking of the king and all the misfortune that had befallen  
Denmark since the death of Hamlet's father and the rising of Claudius, Hamlet's uncle. "Sending  
you with two people to mindlessly do away with you. I bet that you, like me, do not even know  
their names."  
  
"Nay, nothing do I recall, save that they wore red shirts. And so it will be that the red-shirted  
ensign will always suffer from grave misfortune. But now, I have no desire, but to take that same  
ship, and sail away with you; it will be just the two of us. I cannot stand up to my uncle," he said  
sorrowfully.  
  
"But, I do not wish to leave Denmark." She sighed. "I mean, it has been terrible since this has  
happened. But, I was hoping we could just live here, and enjoy the soon bto blossom merry  
month of May. We could have wonderful picnics here in the woods, and share those delightful  
sausages your mother makes, Hamlet, and cheese on rye."  
  
"Hold the May, O," Hamlet proclaimed. He held up a hand, and touched Ophelia's cheek.   
"My dear, as long as I remain, I am a hunted creature. I am like a lion, not a king. We must sail  
away, far away. I have already told the captain to wait, we shall have a priest marry us secretly,  
and then we shall steal away to Africa."  
  
Ophelia sighed, then relented. "If it must be, it must be." She wandered away from him a  
little, and mourned in a resigned soliloquy. "Ah, my Denmark, thing of beauty, nation so beloved  
to have borne the likes of my dear Hamlet. To think that thou shalt turn him from a king into a  
lion. Why, I would that he were to become a king, even a lion king, but sadly, it will not be. And  
perhaps, after the passage of time, dear Denmark, you shall wake up and see the error of your  
ways, and cast off somehow this crimson robe you wear, because of the evil ways of your king,  
Hamlet's uncle, Claudius. Till that time, farewell, and haste to mourn. Cry, my beloved country,  
for the last ounce of good will be leaving thee now."  
  
Hamlet glanced hastily behind him. "Ophelia, I meant what I said, they could be on my tail  
right now!"  
  
"Oh, very well, I suppose I shall have to continue my musings on the boat," she said, slightly  
disgusted that she couldn't get a proper soliloquy off her chest. With that, she took his hand, and  
they left quickly.  
  
The couple encountered few problems as they rounded Europe and the western tip of Africa.   
However, the trading vessel soon ran aground, as harsh, stormy waters coupled with priates  
caused them to smash against the rocks.  
  
"Oh dear. Oh, dear," Ophelia said, digging through the rubble. "Hamlet, are you all right?"  
she asked as she lifted up a piece of debris.  
  
"Yes, I'm okay. Phew, what a battle."  
  
"Hey, that was quite a storm," said a voice behind Ophelia. It took both people a minute to  
realize that this was a talking warthog speaking to them. "Did you get hurt in the storm?" the  
warthog asked.  
  
"No, but I had a run-in with some pirates, and I was injured in the fracas," Hamlet explained.  
  
"Oh, dear, let me rub it where...wait a minute, should I be doing that? My pure self has never  
known the likes of a man carnally," Ophelia wondered.  
  
"Well, we are legally a couple. Anyway," Hamlet said, rubbing his head. His eyebrows shot  
up as he spoke with shock. "Hey, wait a minute, you're a warthog."  
  
"You were expecting maybe David Livingstone?" the warthog said. "Anyway, my name is  
Pumbaa, and this is my friend Timon."  
  
"We'd better make ourselves scarce, there's a pride of lions coming this way," Timon  
reported.  
  
Ophelia gasped. "Lions! Oh my!"  
  
"Hey, at least there aren't any tigers or bears in the same continent," Pumbaa remarked.  
  
"Seeing lions is enough to make me say Oh my,'" Hamet declared decisively.  
  
"Figures. You look like a man who's seen his share of trouble, though never troubles like  
some people have. Why, I know this one fella, he's sleeping back at our camp, his uncle killed his  
dad and took over as King," Pumbaa said, exasperated.  
  
"Yeah, we're trying to get him to go back and claim his throne," Timon explained hurriedly.  
  
"Yeah, what was that fellow's name that did that?..." the warthog nurmurred absently as they  
walked toward the campsite.  
  
Hamlet, meanwhile, had his mind on other things. "By golly, what a coincidence. I had the  
same problem, but I knew it was just no use fighting my uncle. So, Ophelia and I ran away, and  
got shipwrecked here. It wasn't bad, though, except we got attacked by priates and I got hurt in  
the fracas."  
  
"Scar!" Pumbaa suddenly shouted.  
  
"I think not!" Hamlet said in a huff, quite insulted. "We've just met! Even Ophelia hasn't had  
a look."  
  
"I mean, Scar is the uncle's name," the warthog said as the noise roused Simba from his sleep.  
  
"No, Claudius is my uncle's name!" Hamlet cried.  
  
"No, no, his uncle is Scar. Isn't it, Simba? Your uncle is the King of the Juingle."  
  
Simba looked resignedly at Pumbaa. "What good is all that? I'm just a mere cat," Simba said.  
  
"You can't be a meerkat, I'm a meerkat," Timon cried.  
  
"Oh, nonsense," Ophelia suddenly shouted. "I'm sure you two are both quite accomplished  
creatures! Don't settle for being mere cats."  
  
"But I tell you, I am a meerkat," Timon said defensively.  
  
"But you should be King of the Jungle, not a mere cat," Pumbaa declared to Simba.  
  
"What?! The meerkat is not the king of the jungle, the lion is the king of the jungle," Hamlet  
ranted. "Something may be rotten in Denmark, my dearest Ophelia, but something is downright  
baffling in Africa. I am bewitched, bothered, and bewildered."  
  
"But what ever is it, dear? For I perceive the problem is merely thus - that the same dark  
dread that hath befallen our poor friend Simba here has engulfed your very life," Ophelia stated  
simply.  
  
"For one thing, we have encountered talking warthogs and other beasts, beasts which in the  
grandest of dreams of our most fanciful sages have never been brought to light through spoken or  
written word. Doth that not seem to you a truth most troubling, my dearest Ophelia?!"  
  
Ophelia rubbed her chin. "No. Should it?"  
  
Hamlet threw up his hands. He turned toward the jungle creatures. "Fare thee well. Simply  
tell me this tale, as to why you are not king of the jungle, when it is told by your warthog friend  
here that you are the rightful King."  
  
"Ah, tis a sad tale, one which I long to forget." Simba turned to the young lady and said, "it  
is a sad thing, Missy, when you're born to be a sissy, without an ounce of vim and verve."  
  
"What? Why, with the thoughts that you'd be thinkin', you could be another Lincoln...wait,  
that's what you'd say if someone longed for a brain," Hamlet muttered, wandered in the woods.   
"Tis courage this cowardly lion lacks, and is it not my place to try and give it to him, to restore  
the Rightful balance of Things? Ah, but the mere notion tis a thought that leads me to only one  
conclusion, that being that I have gone quite mad. Yet if my dearest Ophelia sees no cause for  
concern, perhaps it is that I have landed in a most strange land, which the storytellers have not  
told of, for had they told, they would surely have been considered to be several bricks shy of a  
load themselves."  
  
Hamlet turned toward the lion and spoke resolutely. "Ah, but can such a tale as yours be so  
disastrous as mine, for my father hath been killed in a most dastardly way; yea, even poisoned,  
and my mother hath taken up with his brother, and now the entire land is decaying with rot most  
severe."  
  
"And did your father appear to you and tell you to avenge him?" Simba asked hopefully.  
  
"Why, yes, he did. Do not tell me that your father, too, somehow appeared from the spirit  
world, to remind you of your rightful place," Hamlet said. "Oh, woe is me, for I have been  
awakened to a most severe knowledge, that everywhere I shall go, this tale of woe shall  
accompany me, reminding me of my lack of valor."  
  
"That's okay. I don't feel so good myself sometimes," Simba said simply. "If I only had the  
nerve..." he began to sing.  
  
Ophelia began to muse aloud at that point. "Aye, tis a sad tale, that. I have seen my darling  
Hamlet here go from king to being hunted like a lion. Oh, would that he were king, even a lion  
king would be..." Ophelia's eyes lit up. "I've got it! Hamlet, Simba can go back and take your  
throne, avenging your father's death by appearing in the castle as a lion to guard the royal  
winecellar, and then mauling that despicable man. Then, while Simba is the new King of  
Denmark, you and I can stay here and be king and queen of the jungle."  
  
"What? That is the most absurd thing I have heard yet. Aye, but let me try, for perchance it is  
meant to be." Hamlet spoke in a very low voice. "Me, Hamlet, King of Jungle. You, Ophelia,  
make a very strange case." He grabbed a vine and resumed his normal voice. . "Aye, but what if  
it were true, at least I would have shown that I was a rightful leader of something." He swung  
away from them.  
  
"Look out for that..." Timon shouted just before a crash was heard. "...tree.'  
  
"O, my dearest Hamlet, are you all right?" Ophelia said as Hamlet walked, very sore, back to  
the group.  
  
"Oh, dear, I hope you didn't reinjure your fracas," Pumbaa said worriedly.  
  
"Nay, twas not the fracas this time, but my pride is left me, I cannot conceive that there could  
be any worse news than the disastrous crash which I just experience."  
  
Timon turned to Simba. "Hey, was that poison ivy he just swung on?"  
  
"Ah, but if it were, it would be a fitting fate, for I am incapable of being a proper jungle king.   
So it is, Simba, that you will have to become king here, and allow us to just live as grateful  
peasants under your sovereignty."  
  
"But there must be a way to get you back to your native land, to avenge your father's death.   
Ah, but tis fitting for me to try first, for I will certainly be able to use your expertise. For I  
preceive that you do have the capacity to assist, and perhaps that will enable you to get up the  
courage to rescue your beloved nation. Let us go hence, up to the place of my uncle, Scar,"  
Simba said.  
  
"We're going to the place where he keeps his car?" Pumbaa said.  
  
"No, no, Scar, my uncle." Simba sighed. "Ah, but I cannot stand to scar that which is the  
brother of he who fathered me."  
  
"Maybe we could get those hyenas to do it," Hamlet suggested.  
  
"A brilliant plan," Timon declared.  
  
Once Hamlet walked up to the den with the others, he announced to Scar, "we have come to  
give Simba his rightful place on the throne."  
  
Scar awoke groggily from a nap; not unusal considering lions sleep an average of 20 hours a  
day. "What? I'll get you," he declared as he pounced. Hamlet stepped gingerly aside. " Tis no  
stranger that can take me from my rightful position, let alone my nephew, for I have usurped all  
power, and hold it at my disposal. The beasts of the wild shall rend you, they shall treat you like a  
fresh piece of meat, they shall utterly annihilate you," Scar proclaimed as he wiped at Hamlet with  
his paw.  
  
"My father didn't raise me to be a lunch," Hamlet declared. "He raised me to be King."  
  
"You shoudl have stayed where you came from," Scar proclaimed as Hamlet led him over to a  
cliff.  
  
"You shall..." Scar suddenly fell off the cliff and into a pack of hyenas. As he fell, he  
delivered another soliloquy. "AAUGH, tis fleeting so, life is but a vapour, and as I fall off of this  
cliff here, I pause and consider whether it was worth it all. Like MacBeth, I look back on my life  
as a tragic tale of decoption, blinded by a lust for power, and..."  
  
"Hey, hurry it up," shouted a hyena. "We haven't got all day!"  
  
"Hey, can't a guy give a little solilquy here?" Scar shouted just before he died.  
  
"Ah, now the Rightful order of Things has been restored," Hamlet said. "Yet am I without my  
kingdom, but happy here I'll be, with my darling wife by my side. Hakuna Patata, what a  
wonderful phrase," he began to sing.  
  
"Hold it!" Pumbaa shouted.  
  
"What's wrong?" Hamlet asked defensively.  
  
Timon spoke swiftly. "First, no more singing - your singing causes paint to peel and sends  
groanings throughout the spirit world, which raise up unpleasant odors and screams of banshees  
in the night from the pure and unadulterated pain produced by the pathetic vibrations of your  
vocal chords."  
  
"What did he just say?" Hamlet asked Pumbaa.  
  
"He said your singing stinks," Pumbaa translated.  
  
"Ah, that. Very well; carry on," Hamlet instructed.  
  
Timon continued, unfazed. "Second, you may not have been in the right place to see someone  
like Fortinbras and his army. But, now you've seen something even better; someone had to do  
just what you have to, and they succeeded in triumphing over the forces of evil. You can do it,  
my friend. You can be just like Simba will be here, a powerful and grand king for your nation.   
You can be a real Dane-de-lion," he finished with a flourish.  
  
Hamet thought out loud. " Tis true that our nation must be saved. A rottenness so foul it has  
trapped the entire people in its grip has overpowered the land. But yet, the way to do this, I  
know not, for I doubt Claudius will be willing to fall off a cliff into a pack of hyenas. Especially  
since we have no hyenas in Denmark."  
  
"Ah, but you forget," Simba noted. "You have all the courage in the world. Courage is not a  
lack of fear, it is the ability to face your fears as I did. Be it ever thus, that you shall become  
known for your courage not for the things you do, but for the fact you feared the consequences  
and were able to conquer the obstacle tht was placed in your path. For truly your plight is one  
which is against the most common of foes, that of evil, and good must triumph over evil. That is  
the certainty, the eventuality, even though we see it not in our lieftimes sometimes, that keeps us  
going."  
  
"Aye, tis a certainty, my dearest Hamlet, and I almost did not live to see it myself, but I chose  
to believe, and stayed alive to know that you would one day return," Ophelia admitted.  
  
"But how then shall I get there?" Hamlet inquired.  
  
"Did you ever try clicking your heels and saying there's no place like home?'" Timon asked.  
  
Hamlet closed his eyes, clicked his heels, and said, "There's no place like home." He opened  
them and said, "Nope, didn't work."  
  
"Aw, rats. Well, I guess you'll just have to catch a trading vessel as they come back this way  
in a few days," Pumbaa remarked. "But, don't worry. If you need us, we're just a holler away."  
  
"Thanks," Hamlet said as they left.  
  
A short time later, Hamlet awoke in a forest. "Oh, sweetheart, are you all right?" he heard  
Ophelia ask.  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. We were just coming back to Denmark. My head hurts...Imust have passed  
out or something. Are we there yet?"  
  
"Why, certainly, we got shipwrecked and I have been nursing you back to health. You were in  
a deep sleep for several hours," Ophelia explained.  
  
"Huh? But, Simba, Pumbaa, Scar...was it all..."  
  
As he rubbed his head, Ophelia said, "Yes, you do have a nasty scar, we had a fight with some  
robbers and you were injured in the fracas."  
  
"In the what?..." He thought better of it, and shouted, "No, we're not starting that again!"  
  
Suddenly, Claudius walked up to them, sword drawn. "Well, well, if it isn't Beauty and the  
Beast," he scoffed, referring to the lovely Ophelia and his nephew.  
  
Hamlet stood rapidly. "You're wrong, Mister, Ive changed now, I'm a Lion King. And I am  
about to douse your magic kingdom where it's all beauty on top and sloth underneath, and make  
it snow white once again."  
  
"I shall not be thwarted by a lad in your state. Why, you don't even have a sword. Go to,  
Ophelia, for I have no quarrel with yout; for I heard that the two of you had joined together, but  
when I came here earlier I only saw you, curled up as a sleeping beauty. But wherever this  
miscreant has been hiding, it is time to do away with him, and leave his body to rot and be eaten  
by 101 Dalmations," Claudius shouted.  
  
"Nay, for we are homeward bound, and we shall soon free this nation of you monsters; ink  
doth not stain nearly as badly as the blotch you have placed on us."  
  
Ophelia protested. "Besides, you have no right to harm him, he has done nothing to you."  
  
"Oh, you need not fear, for nobody will know I have done it, lady. And the tramp shall go  
forgotten into the annals of history. This dumbo shall no longer see the light of day," Claudius  
declared.  
  
As he was doing his soliloquy, Hamlet reached around and grabbed the sword from him. "Ha,  
now I have you!" he shouted, piercing Cluaidus through. He suddenly noticed that his uncle had  
worn gloves. "I say, whatever are these extra thick gloves doing on him, for he doesn't not  
appear to have been gardnening lately."  
  
"Oh, dear. Oh, Hamlet," Ophelia cried, "what a dastardly battle with your uncle you've just  
had. But, pray tell, did you not feel a little prick, as with a pin, in the fracas?"  
  
"No, I felt it in my hand. It appears that he placed poison in the handle of the sword, so that if  
I were to perchance grab it from him, it would kill me." He suddenly looks quite faint "Ah,  
farewell, farewell, my sweet," he said, dropping the sword. "Do not mourn for me, but instead  
work to make this a better land."  
  
Horatio ran into the scene just then, and spied Claudius dead. Ignoring the wobbling Hamlet,  
he said, "Oh, joy, the wicked king is dead, and your mother has died of a stroke at the very hour I  
came to see you. Long live King Hamlet! May your reign of..." Hamet collapsed, unconscious  
but not dead. Horatio looked at him for a second, and cried out, "...two minutes be a worthy  
one."  
  
"Oh dear, I suppose we shall have to anoint Fortinbras now," Ophelia remarked.  
  
"Are you kidding? When your lover Hamlet here wouldn't stand up to his uncle, the stench  
was so foul in this country he led his army right around it going back to Sweden."  
  
"Oh dear, then I suppose I shall be queen." Ophelia walked around in a daze as she said, "Oh,  
my dearest is dead, and before this I sought to find ways to end the depression caused by not  
having him. And now, though, I cannot do that, for I am saddled with so great a responsibility,  
that I do not know how I shall bear it alone. Yet if I die, who then shall be our ruler?"  
  
Hamlet made hacking sounds with his mouth. He motioned Ophelia and Horatio over to him  
as he lay on the ground, dying. "Get Simba...Lion King...Africa...to help." Hamlet died.  
  
"I say, he may have been delirious. Did he say to get a lion king?" Horatio asked.  
  
"He muttered something about that after he woke up. I suggest you make haste down to  
Africa quickly, and fetch this Simba,' and ask for his assistance."  
  
"And what if I do not return?"  
  
"You may originally have been fated to be the only one left - besides Fortinbras, that is. As  
things turned out, in this tragedy, now I am the only one alive, for my brother was one of the  
robbers who tried to kill Hamlet when robbers overtook us, though Hamlet died not knowing  
that. I suspect that it is my lot to live a hard life, have some troubles, and one day, if I am very  
lucky..."  
  
"You will find a man to sweep you off your feet, a lovely prince who loves you and whom you  
also love?"  
  
"Actually, I was thinking that my life could become part of a Disney movie. But, I suppose  
that part is involved, too. As for us, let us remember the good times. For I so long to go with  
you, and flee this rotten and dismal setting over which I am queen." She kissed him gingerly on  
the cheek. "Farewell, my Horatio. You shall make me proud, I am sure. And so this tragedy  
shall have an end, an end wherein I am left alone, to sit on the throne, and for many days moan,  
work my fingers to the bone, and emit a loud groan, as Denmark recovers in zones, from the evil  
seeds sewn, that set a bad tone, for which Hamlet atoned, in a kingdom I now own." She sighed.   
"If only chances weren't blown. But then, this wouldn't be a tragedy, would it?"  
  
"Hey, maybe I'll find this Simba. If I do, you'll have some help. If not, well, you'll wish you  
had a clone."  
  
"Yes. So long, farewell, auf wederzein, goodbye. And now, to go and reign as queen must I."   
She departed, on foot, for the castle.  
  
"Aye, there's a lovely one, that Queen Ophelia of Denmark. Twill be the lucky man, as we  
end this tragic tale, who gets her. But, boy am I glad she's done rhyming things with alone,'" he  
said. And, as he walked to the ship, he tripped over a stone. 


End file.
